


Six Years

by KSOB



Category: The Americans (TV 2013)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KSOB/pseuds/KSOB
Summary: Philip & Elizabeth celebrate six years of living in America.





	Six Years

Try though she might Elizabeth had no current recollection as to how she got herself into her this position. The alcohol swam warmly in her veins, she knew that much, and her eyes would catch glimpses of the glasses and empty wine bottle sitting on the table every now and then when she would open them briefly. Bottles was it? No, surely just the one. Her mind was far off and hazy, but she tried to call forward memories from the evening to piece together the story: A happy meeting with Gabriel; his encouragement to celebrate for some reason? A successful mission? She couldn’t remember, but it was inexplicably important to her now to remember exactly how all of this had happened, how she had allowed it to happen. But the details escaped her as fuzzy images danced at the edges of her mind. These details became blindingly more blurry as her back arched up from the couch, throwing Philip off pace as he waited for her to settle before returning his attention to the space between her legs.

Elizabeth’s clothes were discarded somewhere on the living room floor and, for some odd reason, Philip's t-shirt now hung loosely over her small frame. Why or how her shirt were removed only to be replaced by Philip’s she didn’t know, but she could feel Philip’s bare arms against her inner thighs and was momentarily grateful she was not the only one in a semi-state of undress. Despite the sensations rippling through her body she was finally pulling forth enough mental awareness to tell him to stop when his tongue made a particularly skillful pass and her thoughts splintered. Her right hand was tangled in his hair and she bit down hard on her left after a moan taut with frustration escaped her lips.

Philip smiled against her, kissed the soft skin of her inner thigh and looked up toward the hallway of their first two-bedroomed home. Paige, now four, was sleeping in her room, the door cracked slightly as way of dealing with her fear of the dark. Henry was in the crib in their bedroom, still sharing a space with them at his gentle six-month baby stage. Hearing no sign of movement from either child Philip turned his eyes back to Elizabeth, smiled, and held up a finger against his lips. His lips were a dark red, and his eyes looked different, off, something slightly amiss and far away in them, but she had no interest to figure it out now. Elizabeth panted heavily above him, her own eyes darkened by alcohol and desire, and her head fell back to the couch when his hand pushed her legs apart again and he resumed his attention to her. He slid a lazy finger inside of her, drawing it out slowly in a rhythm that complimented the movement of his tongue in so delicious a way Elizabeth’s legs began to shake. She gripped his hair desperately, her teeth leaving marks on her own hand as she writhed helplessly on the couch. Philip hooked his finger slightly, dragging it against her and she was undone. Her body went rigid, then shook lightly while moaning a little too loudly, followed by a needy gasp as she felt Philip move over her and inside of her.

He thrust several times, his head ducked closely against her neck, lips hot on her skin. As the height of her orgasm passed Philip hit his, and he bit a little too hard into her shoulder to stifle the moan that was pulled from deep in the back of his throat. He moved slowly a few more times, then stilled, Elizabeth’s hand still carded in his hair, her other absentmindedly caressing his back. He panted against her, reveling in how soft she felt beneath him and breathed in her scent while sleep threatened to overtake him. Elizabeth breathed heavily, hearing her heart drum loudly in her ears, as her body drifted into contentment. She turned her head and planted a kiss into Philip’s disheveled curls, her heart jumping slightly when she heard him sigh at the touch. It was hard to believe she had known this man for nine years, lived with him for six, and yet still the simplest things, the smallest act of kindness from her, surprised him the most.

_Six years._

The details came flooding back to Elizabeth’s mind. Gabriel had reminded them that today was the sixth anniversary of them moving to the States. At the time it had seemed to be such a trivial piece of information to share, one Elizabeth shrugged off immediately as useless to her. But, as Gabriel solemnly pointed out, officers of their caliber had a reason to celebrate every year of survival, each one a more significant marker of success than the last. So many of their people had died trying to succeed in this line of work and, ever the sentimental one, Gabriel had encouraged Philip and Elizabeth to celebrate. They had rarely celebrated an anniversary before, so a bottle of wine, no, two Elizabeth confirmed with a quick glance over Philip’s back to the coffee table, had been opened as each of them engaged in a dangerous game: Reminiscing. 

* * *

Elizabeth bounced gently in her bedroom, softly shushing the tiny baby she held in her arms. It was already well past nine o’clock, Henry’s bedtime now being long overdue. He wasn’t a fussy baby, nothing like Paige who would scream unless she was being held, but he did fight sleep unlike any child she had ever seen, not that it had been many. She glanced down at her son, his eyes still wide open and alert, a mirror image of Philip’s, and she sighed heavily. She could hear Philip reading a story to Paige, who bombarded his sentences with questions so frequently she guessed it would take him another hour to get through the book. Why had Gabriel kept them so late tonight? With the new baby their missions had tapered off significantly, the Centre being cautious to allow them more time at home so as not to draw attention to the seemingly absent parents of a newborn. But tonight Gabriel had seemed particularly chatty, discussing their “successful term” and encouraging them to celebrate a little when they got home.

 _Celebrate_. _Celebrate six years of living with Philip._

Elizabeth practically scoffed at the idea when Gabriel said it, but thankfully her trademark stoicism kicked in before she allowed her disgust at the suggestion to go any further than her thoughts. He had been unusually sweet to her on the ride home, though, and now that her options were a glass of wine with Philip or bouncing Henry for the next two hours she felt her incredulousness at celebrating fade away. She redoubled her efforts to get Henry to sleep, bending her knees lower as she rotated her upper body, bouncing slightly as she rose. Henry’s eyes began to close at the lulling sensation, reminiscent of being carried prenatally by his mother who was never particularly inactive while pregnant with either child. Finally asleep, she laid Henry in the crib, bringing the door semi-closed behind her and made her way to the living room.

Philip was already sipping on his glass of wine, hers poured and waiting.

“You finished reading the book already?”

“Well, I _skimmed_ the book.”

Elizabeth laughed, knowing her daughter well, “How did she not catch that? I swear she has that book memorized.”

“She did catch it,” Philip conceded, “but I told her this was a special version of the story that she only got to hear on very special nights.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, taking a seat next to him and picking up her glass. “Great. Now she is going to expect me to read her that special version and I’ll have no idea what you skipped.” The wine was a welcomed taste and she shivered slightly as the alcohol made its way into her blood stream, relaxation filing her.

“Nah. I told her it was a special version only daddy could tell her,” Philip took another drink.

An odd emotion flavored with jealousy instantly sprang up in Elizabeth. Of course she was grateful that her daughter adored Philip, any daughter should love her father. But there was a closeness to their relationship that irked Elizabeth at times, as if Philip had unlocked a part of Paige that would forever remained closed off to her, her own mother. Paige was the spitting image of Elizabeth when she was a baby herself but, other than their physical resemblance, she was pure Philip in every sense. Unable to explain it this burned slowly inside Elizabeth as she watched their closeness grow, feeling like an outsider in her own family. The tiny creature whose existence was purely a ploy to support their cover had now secretly taken up residence deep in Elizabeth’s heart and high on her list of priorities. 

She took a bigger sip of wine.

“So,” Philip went on, aware of her abrupt silence but not unused to it, “to six years?” He tilted his glass toward hers and she clinked them together. “Feels weird, huh? Six years sounds like a long time.”

“Six years _is_ a long time,” she barely finished swallowing before speaking, her voice slightly distorted through the sound of the liquid, causing her sentence to sound more irritated than she intended.

Philip ignored it and went on with a slight chuckle, “Remember learning to make a casserole?” The smile on his face faded as he watched Elizabeth turn furious eyes on him.

“We aren’t supposed to talk about —”

“I meant for that party they hosted at our first apartment, right at the beginning of summer. And you had that recipe for a casserole but it was a total mess?”

Elizabeth held herself rigid for another moment until she decided this was safe enough territory. She relaxed, laughed softly and took a drink from her now almost empty glass. “I’d never seen so many hash browns in my whole life. The calorie intake of that thing must have broken a record.” 

The airy conversation went on amiably as they traded memories, both of them quickly losing track of time as Philip kept both glasses filled. It was slow and, at times, awkward but they exchanged remember-that-time moments as they reflected on their first several years as “Americans.” Learning to drive the streets of their neighborhood, learning to change diapers, Elizabeth mastering the art of curling her hair in a fashion that matched the latest trends, Philip’s not-so-secret obsession with country music, each now distant, and precious, memories. The wine continued to be poured and a second bottle was opened. Neither of them ever imbibed this much and, though they knew they shouldn’t, it felt good to cut loose a bit, as loose as possible for two people living solely under the protection of lies that must be maintained at all costs.

“I don’t remember that,” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed when Philip mentioned an operation that Elizabeth struggled to recall.

“Oh, right. I think I worked that one solo. Yeah, that’s right. You weren’t around much then. Some assignment out with that group you recruited early on,” Philip replied, practically finishing off the second bottle of wine into each of their glasses.

Elizabeth didn’t allow emotion to cross her expression as the word “recruited” hung heavily in the air. She knew Philip had no idea of the relationship she had, and had left behind, with that specific recruit, but still a sense of guilt began to creep into her psyche. She swirled the wine around in her glass a bit for no real reason.

“What was that guy’s name?”

_“Shit_ ,” Elizabeth thought, taking a large drink from her glass that she hoped went unnoticed by Philip. She swallowed. “Gregory.” Her tone was even.

“That’s right. Gregory.”

Elizabeth held her breath for a moment, nerves pulled tight as she waited to see which direction this conversation was about to take. 

Philip laughed suddenly, “I remember those days well because I had the most awkward conversation with Gabriel around that same time. One of those conversations you can’t ever shake.”

Relieved that tonight was not the night to share secrets Elizabeth would rather keep hidden she turned to face him, her face painted full of interest in hopes her enthusiasm would help change the subject quickly. “Really?” Her voice dripped with curiosity.

“Oh, yeah,” Philip scoffed, voice tinged with embarrassment and humor, now beginning to sound a little thick.

Tucking her feet underneath her body Elizabeth shifted her weight a bit to face him, propping her arm on the back of the couch and resting her head atop her fisted hand. Normally she would never press for details with Philip, but the wine had banished her inhibitions and she heard the slur in her voice as she spoke, “What was the conversation about?”

Philip looked up at her, his eyes were merry but there was a definite hint of color in his cheeks. “It’s embarrassing,” he admitted, looking away again.

“All the more reason for you to tell me then,” Elizabeth bantered smoothly.

“Why, so you can make fun of me?” His smile was lopsided, uncertain.

“No, so I can see that goofy face you make when you get embarrassed.” Her voice was far more seductive than she had planned, something that did not go unnoticed by Philip. His heart rate quickened and she drank from her glass, clearly uncomfortable.

He sighed heavily and turned away from her, “Fine. I was working this agent, well, _trying_ to work her. A woman at the Department of Transportation, something about subway systems,” his brow furrowed trying to recall the details, “I can’t remember exactly. Anyway, it never really went anywhere because she wanted nothing to do with me after a few meets.”

“Why not?”

Philip hesitated. “Before I answer I’m gonna tell you that this woman was unstable. Just — odd.”

Elizabeth smiled, “Why didn’t she wanted nothing to do with you?”

His head snapped in her direction, eyes slightly concerned as they scanned her red face and then her glass of wine. “ _When had we drank that much?_ ” he wondered and, as if she could read his mind, she pulled her glass close to her chest, clutching at it in a jokingly protective manner as she slyly smiled. 

“Your grammar is a little off there —” he began to tease, being cut off.

“Stop avoiding the question.”

He sighed. “We met up a few times and things progressed quickly. She wanted to —” he let the implication fill in the gaps. They never discussed honey traps with one another and sharing this information now, several glasses of wine in, felt unceremoniously unnatural. But the childlike excitement in her face at hearing an embarrassing story of his gave her an alluring glow and he decided to offer this trust. “She was odd, Elizabeth, keep that in mind. She told me to — go down — on her and I did.”

Elizabeth sat still, unsure if that was supposed to be the embarrassing thing he had been so hesitant to tell her. If so, she desperately hoped he did not ask her to share one of her own embarrassing moments as the acts she had performed over the past six years would put this confessed one in the category of tame.

“About ten minutes in she grew so frustrated with me, and kicked me out of the house before I had time to fully dress myself. It was freezing outside and I was throwing on my jeans and my shirt was on — um —” He snapped his fingers then made a rotating gesture with them, trying to think of the word, the alcohol having temporarily erased parts of his vocabulary.

“Backwards,” she offered.

“Yeah, backwards. My shirt was on backwards as I tried to hide in the dark while I put my clothes back on,” he finally finished his thought.

“Why was she frustrated with you?” Elizabeth pushed, still confused, and now definitely drunk.

Philip waited several seconds before responding, finally exhaling the words, “She said I didn’t know what I was doing.” His head hung down slightly on his neck, throwing back another drink, this time from a beer he had no memory of grabbing from the kitchen.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in clear shock at his confession and, after five seconds of unbearable silence for Philip, she burst into peals of laughter. “She _told_ you that?!” Her voice was most certainly loud enough to wake up the neighbors’ children, much less her own sleeping down the hallway, but she had no concept of the inappropriateness of her current volume and, even if she had, Philip’s words were too hysterical to care about propriety.

“Yes, but she was crazy! She did _not_ know what she was talking about!” Philip shot back defensively, “I mean, you _know_ that isn’t true.”

What he meant that she knew of the caliber of training he had received prior to their departure for America. Hours, weeks spent on seduction and moves well practiced in how to elicit the greatest amount of pleasure from a target in hopes of receiving the greatest amount of information in return. Elizabeth hated to think back on these sessions, as did Philip, and the topic, like so many others, was never brought up between the two of them. It was, however, the implied meaning that she _personally_ knew he was skilled in the area of oral sex that stuck with both of them, the room suddenly becoming uncomfortable and tense. Elizabeth felt her heart beat pick up significantly in pace and her mouth went dry as she struggled to think of a response that would quell the awkwardness of breeching the conversation of their lackluster sex life. But alcohol kicked in faster and she was filled with mortification when she heard her mouth, without the permission of her brain, speak the words, “You _know_ I don’t.” 

In an act of pure luck, Philip had not heard her, starting his own sentence at the exact same moment as hers in an attempt to plow on with his own story, desperately trying to undo the damage, “I was so embarrassed. And the worst part was I had to tell Gabriel. I couldn’t lie when he asked why the operation stopped, I knew he would push me to go back and see her if I didn’t tell him the real reason. It was humiliating.”

Elizabeth swallowed. He hadn’t heard her. She drank from her glass, nearing the end of her wine and, genuinely curious as to how Gabriel would respond to such a personal confession, asked, “What did Gabriel say?” 

Without looking up from his bottle, without taking a moment to come up with a lie, Philip blurted out the truth, voice showing clear signs of alcohol, “He told me to go home to you and practice.”

The words landed as heavy as an anchor in the small living room, the resounding silence that followed them so powerful neither Philip nor Elizabeth had the strength to respond for several moments. Philip could hear the kitchen clock tick suddenly loudly and each second that passed was agonizing. Why had he said that? He swore to himself he would never share that memory with her, and now here it was set down at her feet so carelessly and he waited for her to pick it up and use it as the most violent of weapons. He rotated the beer bottle in his hand twice, drank the rest of its contents and set it down on the coffee table before him, internally writhing in silence as his brain failed to come up with words to explain away what he had just said.

Elizabeth sat statue still. Not a part of her had moved since Philip stopped speaking and her heart beat steady and loud in her ears. She, at first, was furious at hearing that she had been referred to as nothing more than a play toy, a body on which Philip should _practice_ before taking his skills to the beds of other women. The mere idea that anyone, Gabriel of all people, would suggest such a cold and careless thing infuriated her and she burned in her anger. She was his partner, damnit, just as valuable to the cause as he was, just as capable. She was not one of the whores they brought in for practice back in Gryazi and she’d be dammed if anyone, _especially Philip_ , ever saw her that way. She was about to speak these thoughts when another more troubling one crossed her mind.

“Gabriel really said that?” She clarified cautiously before moving on, just in case this was one of Philip’s ridiculous jokes taken too far with the aid of alcohol.

“Gabriel — really said that,” the words were slow and separate, coming forth from Philip after a few seconds of silence, laced with regret.

With the story confirmed Elizabeth’s mind was now filled to the brim with that second concern that crossed her mind, one that she was loathed to feel at all and yet could not shake. Rather than try and fight it she, along with the wine, broached the issue bothering her.

“Why didn’t you?” She spoke just above a whisper.

Philip’s head turned sharply in her direction to read her face. She looked sincere, open, concerned. Her eyes a little more laced with the effects of alcohol than she would have preferred, had she known. His anxiety at her possible response fled and was replaced with a more serious anxiety that the conversation was now indeed headed in a direction he absolutely would do anything to avoid. He knew the answer. He knew she would not like the answer and that offering her a far less personal lie was his better move.

“Because that lady was crazy, I told you —”

“You’re lying.”

He went silent and still.

“I can see it the tension in your body. The tone of your voice.”

_“Shit.”_ Philip thought. Still no reply. 

She set her now empty wine glass down, “Why didn’t you?”

Silence. His jaw clenched.

“Philip, why didn’t —”

“Gabriel was just joking. He knew —”

“Gabriel would never joke like that. If Gabriel said it Gabriel was serious.”

“Elizabeth, it was a stupid —”

“Why didn’t you?” She punctuated each word so precisely it backed Philip mentally into a corner and the confession burst forth.

“Because I don’t want it to be like that between us. _Them_ telling us when to have sex and how. Sex as a tool in our home. Not for me to learn how to do something and not to get something from each other. I don’t ever want to treat you that way.” Now that it had been spoken he felt the injustice of it all come flooding to his lips, six years of frustration breaking free. “I mean, god _damnit_ , Elizabeth, every sexual encounter I have outside these walls is for trade and I just —” he paused, exhaled and she could visibly see his shoulders drop an inch, “I wanted it to at least be real with you. If it could.”

They were not intimate their first two years in America, not outside the occasional public kiss or caress in order to keep up appearances as newlyweds. Only once during those two years had Philip made an advance on her, which she rebuffed quickly and he respected, and only a handful of times had she looked at him longingly after he had fallen asleep at night, wondering what the skin at his jawline would feel like against her lips. But once they had started attempting to conceive Paige there was no turning back. Gabriel, softly yet firmly, reminded Elizabeth that lack of sex was a weakness, especially for men, and if that she did not comply in fulfilling Philip’s needs on a regular basis he would find satisfaction elsewhere, a risk they could not take in their line of work. She was safe. She was his, in a way. She knew what she signed up for. So their sex life became part of the routine. Once a week Philip would reach for her, she would grant him access to her body and, try though he might, she never allowed him to deviate from the usual behavior, though even Elizabeth herself did not know why she held this line. Philip tried, often making attempts at a different position, usually something he thought she would find more pleasurable. But she always refused. She saw no point. For her sex had never been an act in pursuit of pleasure; it was work, and she saw no reward in mixing up those ideals in her head now, no matter how tempting it often felt to give in to Philip’s touch. Despite this she was neither especially cold to him during these encounters nor especially participatory, she was simply there. Present. Just this side of encouraging, never matching his ardor or enthusiasm. 

And she knew it broke him. 

And hearing him share that he had defied orders from Gabriel, no matter how ridiculous, out of a desire to not turn her into a throwaway object now broke her. 

She watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed, his head still low and his hands wrung together in front of his body. _Six years._ Six years of Philip’s sugary-sweet kindness then his sudden shortness with her; his unpredictability at showing her the utmost adoration or the same cold indifference she so regularly donned. Six years of him cooking hamburgers a little too long because he knew she liked them charred, of offering to do the laundry, holding the door for her, lacing their fingers together when they walked. They had been through more trials than either of them could have imagined, experienced the joys of becoming parents and she remembered the pure love written across his face the first time he held Paige, and the wonder at having a son when she introduced him to newly born Henry. Mostly, though, she thought of how her most intimate times with him were the only moments of sexual touch in which she did not completely retreat mentally. How his hands were soft and attentive; the way her breath would catch when she would feel the rugged skin of his palm, pressed so gently against her thigh, as he pushed her leg out and up toward her chest. How he was gentle with her and caressed her in ways targets would never know she appreciated. How something that had started as a routine to keep Philip from seeking sex elsewhere had, over the past six years, blossomed into something more she considered only privately, something she both wanted to bloom further and be shut down altogether.

Despite her best efforts and her logic she was overcome with affection for the man sitting across from her and, aided by a level of drunkenness in which she never allowed herself, she leaned forward onto a sitting position on her knees, placed her hands on either side of his head and, pulling his body toward her, kissed him deeply.

The next several moments sped by in a blur. Hands moved quickly to remove clothing, lips meeting, then separating to find unkissed parts of the body that cried out for attention. Elizabeth frantically pulled at Philip’s clothing until he was left in his underwear. Philip quickly stripped Elizabeth of hers, laying her naked back against the couch when she, panting and breathy, suggested she keep her shirt on in case Paige woke up and waddled into the living room as she had been known to do on occasion. It seemed illogical, but he would gladly play along according to her rules if the reward was her wanting him. So he fumbled for her clothing in the low-lit room and, having no luck in locating it, grabbed his own shirt which had landed on the coffee table and pulled it over her reluctantly. He paused above her, chest heaving in anticipation, and met her eyes for the briefest of moments. She was gorgeous. His wife. His love. Overcome, he began kissing his way down her body, being genuinely surprised when, for the first time ever, she did not move to stop him and pull him back toward her torso. 

* * *

Philip awoke feeling as if the bedsheets were giving their best attempt at suffocating him. He thrashed his arms rapidly, trying to tear himself free before realizing Elizabeth could very well be in the danger zone of his flying limbs. He opened his eyes and saw no sign of his wife in the bedroom, nor his son in the crib. He stretched out his arms, now free from the tightly wound sheets and the distant sound of Paige’s voice coming from down the hall became clear in his ears.

“Mommy.” Elizabeth did not respond, “Mommy! _Mommy_!”

“Yes, sweetheart?” She called from over the stovetop. 

“Can I have sear-rul?”

“No, Paige. No cereal this morning. I made eggs and bacon.”

Henry cooed softly in the background, fully content with whatever toy or pacifier he had be given.

“Paige, go wake up daddy please. Tell him breakfast is ready.”

Philip, who had risen and thrown on appropriate pants, replied from the doorway, causing Elizabeth to jump, “Beat you to it, Paige.” 

“Daddy!” Paige gleefully held out her arms for Philip to pick her up. Seeing that she was already settled at the table he opted for a tight hug and kiss on the top of her head as Elizabeth set a small plate of food down before their daughter. 

“Morning, baby girl.”

“Mommy made eggs and bacon!” Paige exclaimed. This was a breakfast staple in the Jennings household, but Paige always enjoyed being the first to relay information to anyone. 

“I can see that. It smells delicious,” Philip came behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her. “Good morning,” he kissed her left temple as she stood over the kitchen counter, gripping it tightly as her body tensed. 

“Morning,” was her curt response, refusing to meet Philip’s physical offer halfway. He took a step back and waited as she turned to face him, carefully eyeing the children, and whispering to him, “What happened last night?”

It took a moment for Philip to digest her words, but at his understanding of them he tilted his head and blinked once, brow furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ what happened? I remember putting Henry down, coming out here to have a glass of wine with you and then nothing. I woke up to two empty bottles of wine, an empty beer bottle and a splitting headache.”

Philip stared at her in disbelief. True, they rarely had more than one glass of alcohol at any given time in their best attempt to always keep their wits about them, but surely she was not _that_ drunk last night. He drank more than she did and she seemed fully cognizant, showing no signs of being beyond the point of memory loss. For the briefest of moments he questioned his own memory, until his eyes drifted to the dark mark on her shoulder clearly left there by his teeth, confirming that last night’s events were not just another one of his wild dreams.

“Philip. We can’t do that again. Ever.”

His heart sank momentarily and he slowly let his eyes travel from the mark up to meet her eyes. He knew she was about to follow her statement with the reminder about strict boundaries in their physical relationship and how they are there for a reason. Bracing himself, he waited for the blow to be reminded that casual sex outside of their routine was off the table for them.

 

“I mean it. It was stupid to get that drunk. We can’t be that careless in the future. What if Paige or Henry needed us? What if we had gotten a call? I don’t remember how it happened, but it can’t happen again.”

He held her gaze and saw nothing but determination. Not shame, not embarrassment, not regret related to him. Then he realized. “ _She doesn’t remember,”_ his mind registered as his spirit was crushed. He waited a moment, still refusing to believe it, before speaking.

“You don’t remember last night? At all?”

“No. Nothing.”

He searched her face. She was telling the truth.

“Why?” Then, after a moment, “Oh, god, please tell me I didn’t do something embarrassing. I wasn’t,” she lowered her voice, “dancing or singing was I?” Little experience with being drunk as she had she knew herself well enough to be wary of certain behavior when her inhibitions were lowered.

It amused Philip to hear that what she thought could be the most embarrassing behavior was singing or dancing. Philip smiled sadly, then sighed. “No. You didn’t do anything embarrassing. We just talked and then you weren’t feeling well so we went to bed,” he lied, leaving out any hint of the actual details of what happened on the couch. Or the living room floor after that. He wondered now if he was foolish to pick up their clothes from the living room floor before following her to bed around three in the morning, if her stumbling out here in the morning and seeing their clothing strewn across the living room would have triggered a stronger memory recall. He wondered if that would have resulted in a fight more crushing than this current conversation. 

“Well it’s no wonder I wasn’t feeling well, given how much I drank,” she sighed. “I mean it, Philip. Never again.”

Her words hit harder than he liked to admit, their secret double meaning to him alone especially crushing, banishing the joy he had felt just moments ago waking up in their bed.

_She didn’t remember._

“Deal. Never again.” He grabbed a plate, tried to not angrily throw food on to it, and sat at the table across from Paige, his back to Elizabeth.

When she knew he wasn’t looking she turned unguarded and broken eyes onto him. Her hands dug into the kitchen counter tightly, the pain of the counter digging into her skin a welcomed penance for the act she just put on. 

_“He bought it,”_ she thought with relief and heartache. It was better this way. They had to have boundaries in their relationship or things, her heart especially, would get confused. Allowing Philip any hint of hope that last night could be a repeated event was a danger to the boundaries Elizabeth had worked so hard to establish with him. And while she told herself pretending she had no blissful memories from last night was to keep Philip’s emotions in line, she knew it was, in fact, for her own.

Before she had time to banish the thought she found herself secretly wishing it were not the kitchen counter her hands currently gripped, but rather, in response to his lips on hers, the soft curls at the nape of Philip’s neck. 


End file.
